


Victory is not a Privilege

by YourFadedGlory (HisNameWasAce)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Father Figures, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post game six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1602815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisNameWasAce/pseuds/YourFadedGlory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh Yohe: <b>When I left the Penguins locker room, two people remained: No. 87 and No. 66. </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Victory is not a Privilege

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _"Earn the right to be proud and confident." -John Wooden_  
> 

“Do you want it?”

The words echoed around the vacant locker room.

Sid glanced up, perplexed by the question. “What?” He asked, hunching his shoulders tighter, trying to curl in and alleviate the tight knot of misery sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. 

“Do. You. Want. It?” There was a harder edge to the words, each syllable barbed with sharp disappointment. 

“I don’t understand…” Sid whispered, low and defeated. 

“Do you want to hoist the cup, do you want your name engraved in her metal?” Mario barked, slamming his palm against the solid wood of the stall next to Sid’s. The resounding bang echoing in his ears.

“Of course.” Sid replied. The answer was easy, an instinctive retort rooted in childhood dreams and raised on the hunger of a grown man with a faded memory of the taste of silver on his lips. A memory that five years later was becoming an ever present ache. 

“Then act like it goddamnit!” 

It’d been a while since Sidney had heard genuine anger color Mario’s tone. The man would get frustrated yes, his passion and dedication to the team unparalleled, but it was rare that he was ever truly enraged.

“You’ve earned nothing. Stop sitting back and allowing them the upper hand. Your record, your name it means _nothing_ on this ice.”

Sid couldn’t bring himself to meet Mario’s eyes, he didn’t want to see the fire in them, the undoubted blaze of indignation that was burning in their depths. His words stung, a deep sense of paternal earnestness making them cut just the slightest bit deeper.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to fix it.” Sid admitted quietly, dropping his head into his hands and digging the heels of his palms into the hollows of his eyes to try and forcibly hold his tears of frustration at bay. 

He felt more than he saw Mario ease down next to him, the press of the other man’s shoulder solid and comforting against his own.

“Stop being complacent, stop acting like children who are waiting around for a reward they’ve assumed they’ve earned.” Mario soothed, settling a calloused hand on the back of Sid’s neck and rubbing his thumb into the the worst of the knots that had settled into the muscle there.  
“It isn’t about who wants it Sidney… _everybody_ wants it. It’s about those who want it enough to earn it, those who are willing to fight for every puck, and sprint every step, and dive in front of every shot. The guys who are willing to fight no matter what kind of lead or deficit they have, they’re the guys who’re going to win.” 

“What if we can’t do it?” Sid breathed, shaky and raw.

Mario’s hand stilled on his neck, the grip tightening to a point that felt it was a hairsbreadth away from bruising. 

“Then you pick yourself up, you shake hands, and you fucking learn from it. You look around the locker room and you thank every single one of the guys who fought their way back from injuries, who joined the team and fought like it was their own, you march over to Flower and you make damn well sure that he leaves that room with his head held high. And next year when you come back and some of those faces are gone and new ones are in their place, you remember what you owed them, what you didn’t quite deserve enough to get. Then you earn it, with every practice, every shift, you earn it. Because wanting it isn’t enough.”

His tone was hard, but fatherly, brimming with firm affection that settled Sid at his core. 

Mario stood slowly, giving Sid’s neck a gentle squeeze. 

It was soft, muted in comparison to the rest of their conversation, but Sid knew he didn’t imagine the man’s parting words.

“But what if you can, what if you _can_ do it?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sort of frustrated with these flightless birds, so if there are a massive amount of rage typos I'm sorry.
> 
> All mistakes are my own, as they always are. 
> 
> Have a splendid evening and go stock pile lucky charms for game seven.


End file.
